Quite Unwell
by Caoimhe-Etoile
Summary: 'Cause I stole your soul; Annie and Finnick's roles are reversed. Finnick lives, and Annie dies pregnant. Don't you wonder what nightmares Finnick might have?


**A/N:** _Title's from This Is Twice Now - Lydia._

_Their roles are reversed, it's Annie who's dead and she died around 6-8 months pregnant. And Finnick lives. So, erm, yeah.  
>I wrote this one at 5am, so apologies if there are grammatical or spelling mistakes.<em>

_Hope you like it :) _

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><p>She smiles. You've never seen her this happy before. You feel good, knowing that you're the cause of that contagious smile on her face, just like it's always been. You can't help but smile back. Happy looks good on her.<p>

She laughs and tilts her head back, her dark hair tangles with the cold wind as it whips across your young, tanned faces. You laugh too, though yours is more of a chuckle as you appreciate the sweetness of hers against your eardrums; you might not remember it when you wake up in the morning.

She runs and looks back over her shoulder, he dark brown eyes twinkle cheekily. You fell in love with them in a heartbeat. You believed they held secrets, too dark to be revealed, but you unlocked them anyway. She lets you; she knows you'll keep them safe.

She squeals; you managed to catch up with her and hugged her by the waist. It was tiny, her waist, you could lift her with only one arm. It reminds you of how fragile she is, how disturbed and broken she'd been when they first met. You try your best to forget those memories, but you failed; they'll always be there.

She struggles as you refrain her from escaping. It's not that hard, but she's strong, despite her fragility. But she should be; she's a victor anyway. A good one, strong and agile. She'd survived, though only barely, and you're eternally grateful she did.

She gives in, eventually, and wraps her arms around your neck. Her eyes bores into yours, warm and brown, and you notice how they contrast with your bright green ones. They're happy for the most part, but you know that they've seen worse than you can imagine. They have their own scars, and you know she visualizes them when she screams in the middle of the night. You don't particularly like it when your sleep is disturbed, but you can't bear to see her hurt, so you get up anyway, and hushes her with your mother's lullaby.

She kisses you. You can feel her lips against yours, moist, warm and soft, like they've always been. They taste like strawberries, the same ones you received as a present from a family in District 11. The family's daughter had been killed, and your best friend saw it. From what you've heard, they do this every year during harvest season as a thank you for representing their daughter in the rebellion. You brush it off; you're sure that if you knew their daughter, you wouldn't be able to live with her death.

She giggles, and you do too. It's a sign of happiness, and that's what they were anyway. Happy. At least for the moment.

She brushes her hand through your hair, and you close your eyes at her touch. Your eyes flutter open as she holds your cheek. Her skin is cold, despite the summer heat.

She opens her mouth to tell you something, but no sound comes out. You try to ask her what's wrong, but you can't find your voice either.

She looks worried, shouting now, but still nothing. And she's fading too, and so are your surroundings. Like the world has lost all colour and laughter and morphing into a dark, grey mess.

She grasps your hand as she's pulled back an invisible force, a gale of wind forcing you to separate. You hold on to her hand, you can't let her go. Not now, not again. But you can't help it, the wind's too strong.

She can't hold on anymore and disappears into the moving air. You scream. You scream her name, and though even you can't hear anything, you hope she does. You need her back. They took her once; you won't let them take her again.

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><p>"ANNIE!" He jerked awake as his chest heaved, rapid and heavy. He shook his head. "It was a dream, it was all a dream."<p>

He ran his hand through his hair, a mess of golden waves. It feels different, definitely not the way he felt when she did it. He looked to his left, and saw the empty side of the bed.

A big mixture of feelings rushed through him. His dream was real after all. His head collapsed into his hands as he felt a massive migraine in his head.

"Annie," he whispered, eyes shut tightly, wishing and praying and hoping that she'd be in front of him when he opens his eyes, a worried look on her face, wondering what's wrong with him. And even though he knows that won't be the case, he hopes anyway.

Disappointment pulsed through his veins, and it quickly turns into anger. He roughly tossed the blanket aside and stood up and punched the wall – hard. His fist hurt, he's sure he'd broken his bones, but it's good in a way. The pain distracts him. He flexes his fingers and winces; the bruises from a few mornings ago were only just healing and he'd worsen them.

He picks up an abandoned beer bottle from the dozens that littered his floor, shook it and found a gulp of alcohol left. He tiled his head back as he swallowed it violently. His headache became worse and he falls back onto his bed.

He looked towards the wall, and a whole new feeling filled him up. Her picture hung on the wall, his only possession that hadn't been destroyed within these few months. The photo had life in it, it radiated her aura almost perfectly. Almost.

She had her loveliest smile on, the one he saw so much of when they were together. His lips curled up into a half-smile at the memory. They'd been so happy then. Every evening, they'd meet up in the clearing in the forest, and lay there for hours on end. Sometimes until the stars came out and they counted them one by one, or sometimes until noon the next day, where they'd both find each other tangled in the other's arms.

His smiled saddened. He'd never see her again, nor hear her melodious laugh or the warmth of her touch or the glint in her eyes. It's all in his head now; all dependent on how good his memory is. Sometimes, when he couldn't remember exactly how her laughter echoed in the air around them, he'd let his frustration out by breaking something. He didn't know why, or how it started, but it calmed him somehow. Maybe it's because that certain object might finally know how he felt; broken and beyond repair.

The bruises on his left hand pulsed painfully, but he bit back his lip, refusing to give in to the agonizing throbs.

He closed his eyes.

Maybe someday.

Someday, he'd definitely see her again, and when he does, she'll be as beautiful as ever, and so will he, and he'll finally see his son. He knows what he'll name him already.

"Murphy," he murmured, closing his eyes. He could've sworn he saw his son, his exact replica, running towards him, repeatedly shouting 'Daddy'.

"I love you, daddy," smiles Murphy, looking up at him with identical sea-green eyes. He could see right through them; they were innocent and filled to the brim with love and respect for his father. He could tell Annie had been telling him stories about his dad during the Hunger Games.

"I love you too, Murph," he said, tickling Murphy, who giggled helplessly.

Annie lumbered up to him, her dark eyes twinkled familiarly. She hugged him from behind and rested her chin on his shoulder. "And me?"

"Too much for a man like me to bear," he whispered seriously. She hummed approvingly and kissed him on the cheek.

"I love you, Finnick Odair," she said sweetly, and he knew, that that's where he wanted to be; a place where they can never be taken away from him again.


End file.
